


It's Called "LUSH"

by birdcat



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - LUSH, Anyways, First Meetings, Fluff, Humor, M/M, One Shot, fluff with humor, lol is that even a tag ppl search for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-29 02:55:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6356083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdcat/pseuds/birdcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The lotion, Nishinoya, the lotion saved me.” I insist. I’ve set him down and now have him by the shoulders, staring straight at him with great fervency, the receipt stuffed in one hand.<br/>Nishinoya moans. “Sawamura, what’s the point of this? It’s cold, and it’s really late—”<br/>“Wait, is that a number?” Yamaguchi cuts him off, quirking an eyebrow at the slip of paper now pressed to our friend’s shoulder.<br/>I suddenly stare up at the boy in the doorframe, deadpanning with an almost grim expression. “Yes, Yamaguchi, And he’s drop-dead gorgeous.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Called "LUSH"

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this a long time ago. . .december 2015. it cannot compare to my other works. i'm unwilling to delete it, however, so this wall of text will remain.
> 
> (i wrote it in microsoft word, fucked up the formatting, with no way to undo it aside from going through and entering every paragraph break manually, and i do not have the patience to do so.)

Three months ago, Nishinoya scraped and fractured his left forearm by falling off the back of Asahi’s bike. It was a teary affair, mostly on Asahi’s part, who steadfastly upheld the notion that he was the one who caused the accident and would hear nothing against Nishinoya, the one who’d insisted on climbing on and scrambling to class in the first place. The guy proudly wore a bright orange cast for almost eleven weeks, and got the whole fraternity to sign it and covered it in stickers, until two days ago when he returned with a baby-pink soft arm with nocast to cover it. He came bursting through the door waving it around, smacking Ennoshita with it and exclaiming: “Guess who’s back! Lefty! He’s naked!”  
It was a celebratory affair, and we seized the excuse to fool around and promptly held a late-night party for Nishinoya’s left arm - it consisted in entirety of ordering three pizzas, sitting around the kitchen table until 4 AM playing a variety of made-up card games, and making a drunken Asahi eventually relent and say that it was, even three months ago, probably Nishinoya’s fault that they to toppled over into a ditch while trying to make it to class. The admission earned him a slap to the back of the head and a kiss on the cheek from the same person, and it wouldn’t take Tsukishima to figure out who.  
Currently, standing in front of the empty fountain in the middle of Grandberry strip mall at 7PM, Nishinoya has my phone blowing up. The guy is complaining, vehemently over text, that his naked-baby arm skin is suddenly a peeling, flaking mess and that it requires immediate medical attention in the form of expensive shea-butter moisturizer. Conveniently enough, I realize, he requires this as soon as he knows that I’m in the middle of a shopping center with my wallet and phone on me.  
“Where am I supposed to go and get this?” I demand, typing the characters into the tiny phone screen with a frown. The strip-mall buzz all around me is hard to drown out, and I squint down at the conversation. Leave it to Nishinoya to distract me from holiday shopping.  
“You’re supposed to be out evening today, right? Isn’t there a store somewhere with nice skin cream? I’m telling you, once they take the cast off your whole arm is like, falling off. Needs treatment. Needs shea butter.”  
Begrudgingly, I look up and around and almost immediately spot a store appearing to be stocked with soaps and bath products. My frown deepens and I turn back to my phone. “You didn’t need this stuff two days ago.”  
“My left arm’s epidermis wasn’t removing itself from the rest of my body two days ago.”  
“I don’t need the details. If I come back with something for it, you’re paying me back full price.”  
“Of course! :)”  
I tuck my phone away into my coat pocket with a shiver, knowing very well that he will not be paying me back full price, if at all. Nishinoya, as feisty as he is, enjoyed being pampered by the whole frat after the accident and obviously still continues to expect the same type of treatment. It’s because of Asahi - the big teddy bear will do anything for Nishinoya, in particular carrying anything and everything around for him; on occasion the boy himself. Which is pretty cute sometimes, Tanaka and I secretly agree.  
I hurry over to the store, promising myself that I’ll purchase gifts for the rest of the boys as soon as this is done with. The air outside is cold and crisp and peppered with snow, and the warmth blowing against my skin as soon as I open the shop’s door is rivaled in pleasure only by the sweet scent of perfumes and shampoo that hits me like a wave the moment I take a step inside. I haven’t bothered to take a look at the name of the store, but I’m immediately greeted by a young woman with a pin labeled “LUSH” in English on her apron. I offer her a friendly smile and an “I’m just browsing, thank you.” as I brush past, taking in the sights and sounds of the place.  
The store itself is cramped and appears almost overstocked, with shelves along the walls and through the middle with tables and trays of colorful bath products and perfumes. _Perfect,_ I think, I’ll find something here for him that’s adequately overpriced and luxurious. The whole place smells good, and sounds good, with soft music playing and chatter between employees and customers filling in the empty space. Its walls are all covered with neatly written chalkboards listing product names in distinctive handwriting, and the dangling lights hung from the ceiling are almost festive. Compared to the dark, cold outside, the store seems like a sort of safe haven of cleanliness and warmth. I nestle deeper into my coat and suck in a breath, letting out chill that seems to stick with me. As I poke my head around a corner to look down one of the colorful aisles, I silently thank Nishinoya for being such a needy bastard—this will warm me up, and probably make me smell like a girl.  
“Looking for anything in particular?” A voice behind me asks. The voice sounds male, and friendly, and genuinely interested. I whip around, and peer at him from over a table.  
“Well, no, I’m just brow—”  
He’s a few centimeters shorter than me, with feathery-looking ash-colored hair tucked messily behind his ears, and a brilliant grin on his face that can only be described as suddenly and intensely captivating. He has a mole just beneath his left eye, the pair of which happen to be big and brown and looking up at me just slightly with intent and interest hard to feign. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone and his collar hangs loose around his neck, the left side pinched messily beneath one side of his apron strings, accompanied by a pen tucked just beneath it on the same side. He gives off an air of ordered chaos, of someone messy yet stunning and with the inexplicable air of magnanimity. He’s, well, devastatingly beautiful.  
“Actually,” I continue, the moment I notice his expression turning to puzzlement. Oh god, and he probably smells good— “I was looking for something for my friend. He’s, uh, just got a cast removed, and he’s been complaining to me that his skin on that arm is all dry and stuff now so he needs some sort of moisturizer.” Despite myself, I break into a grin. ”I don’t know anything about moisturizer.”  
The man mirrors my grin, his eyes squinting up at me fondly. “Well, I know about moisturizer, so I suppose you’re in luck.” He’s rounded the table and soon gestures me down an aisle with the same smile. “How long did he have this cast on? A while?” He asks over his shoulder.  
I blink, hurrying to follow him immediately and taking my hands out of my coat. “Three whole months, actually. He fell off the back of a friend’s bike on the way to class, we’re, ah— we’re college students. We’ve gotten into worse.”  
The man’s eyes widen knowingly, another grin appearing on his face. “Oh, I can imagine.” He stops walking and crouches down to pick a jar something off the lower shelf. “I haven’t gone to college, but I’ve always admired those that do. It seems like a lot to take on. Here.” Suddenly, he’s taken my left hand in his right, and has my sleeve halfway rolled up my forearm, before I can even react. “This, if you don’t mind, will probably help your friend—” He looks up suddenly, and stops talking, asking for permission.  
“Oh, sure,” I breathe, eyes gone wide. Okay, he’s touching my arm and putting something—  
“It’s called our ‘Ultrabalm,’” He completely refocuses and begins rubbing the cream onto the inside of my forearm with his fingers. “It’s an all-purpose moisturizing vegan body balm made entirely of plant waxes, no mineral oils, no petroleum jelly, it’s one hundred percent natural and completely GMO…”  
I’ve completely zoned out by now, half in shock, half in awe, caring very little about the fair-trade organic certified plant-based ingredients and more about the fact that his hands are warm and soft and grip my wrist loosely but with enough firmness to jolt me out of whatever non hyper-alert state I was in prior to him touching me. Touching me, right—   
“How does that feel?” He asks now, having finished his speech and looking up for a moment with another smile. He smoothes his thumb over the inside of my arm before letting go, and I quite literally feel the back of my neck begin to flush with heat.  
I run my hand over where he’d put the cream, and flick my gaze up at him, legitimately awed. “It’s so smooth.” I mutter, hoping desperately that I’m not blushing at him.  
He bursts into a big grin. “Good! That’s one of my personal favorites, and it smells good, too. Here.” He briskly hands me the jar of cream before reaching down for another.  
When he pops back up I’ve got my nose to the first jar, breathing in deeply. He grins, and twists open the lid of another. “That one smells like roses, doesn’t it?”  
I nod vigorously. “It’s so good.”  
“I know.” His eyes are wide. “But try this one. It’s called ‘Christingle,’ and it’s seasonal only, actually...” He takes my hand again, gently, and spreads a thick blue cream across the back of it, then steps back and watches.  
“Blue?” I ask, but immediately shut up when I feel the skin on my hand start to tingle. “Oh my gosh—” I mutter, laughing. “That’s so weird, that’s…” I bring my hand up to my face to smell it, puzzled by the feeling. “That’s really cool. It’s blue.” I look up at him, and he’s laughing sweetly.  
“It’s a bit of a surprise, huh?” He muses. He’s got _dimples,_ I notice, screaming internally. “It’s also vegan, and made with safe synthetics along with shea butter and natural oils. That’s how it’s blue. Smells like mint, right?”  
“It’s like— peppermint, yeah. And Christmas themed, apparently.” I sniff it again, amusement spreading along my features. “I think my friend would like this one. Might be in for a bit of a surprise when he puts it on, but I think he’d like it.”  
He raises an eyebrow at me. “And you could totally play it off like a Christmas present.”  
I burst into a dumb grin. “Oh boy, he totally deserves to get ripped off this year, making me go and buy stuff for him when he knows we’re all broke. Christmas present it is.”  
“Perfect.” He laughs again, reaching to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’ll always do a double-gift if I can, we all know the struggle.” He’s smiling, and we make eye contact, and suddenly I’m trying not to explode. He blinks right at me.  
“I’m Daichi.” I say quickly, loosening my grip on the jar of balm.  
His expression changes. “I’m Sugawara, but you can call me Suga.”  
A smile finds its way to my lips. “Suga-san.” I say, “Nice to meet you.”  
He mirrors my smile. “You too, Daichi-san. A wonder to bump into a guy my own age at Lush, huh?”  
I’m twisting the cap back onto the jar I’m planning to purchase, and look up at him. “Not many law students coming in every week looking to purchase some expensive bath salts?”  
He laughs softly. “No, not very many.” We share a grin. “I can ring you up in the back, actually.” He gestures back down the aisle with a thumb, and tilts his head the same way.  
I follow enthusiastically, and without missing a beat, he’s engaging me in conversation again. “So, you’re a law student?”  
I nod with another smile. “Another word for ‘ball of stress,’ really. The guy that fell off the bike is a member of my fraternity, we’re all juniors at Keio.”  
Suga’s grinning at me from over his shoulder. “I don’t think of law students as the type to be going around falling off of bikes.”  
“Well, you’d be surprised who studies law.” I scratch the back of my neck, hoping I’m not blushing. “With the incident at hand, they were going to be late to class, and, well, you know how we are about—”  
“Being late is the end of the world?” He asks, all eyelashes and big brown eyes looking up at me.  
“Exactly.” I breathe out, just barely. ”And the guy, Nishinoya, was actually on the back of another friend’s bike, riding like how kids do sometimes with his feet by the back wheel, basically ensuring that he was going to fall off.”  
Suga’s laughing—no, giggling now. “That’s pretty dumb. How tall is he? We always felt safer with the little guy on the back.”  
“No, he’s only 159 centimeters! You’d think that the guy would manage to keep himself on, but when it’s six AM and nobody’s had their coffee and Asahi is pedaling with all his might on a concrete path only a meter wide, well—”  
“People fall over?” He asks.  
“People fall over.”  
We laugh like dumb kids, and the back of my neck is on fire. He’s so _gorgeous._ I watch quietly as he scoots around the counter, firing another amused grin my way, and takes the jar of tingly moisturizer from me with his fingers brushing my own deliberately. Or, well— gosh, did that seem deliberate. I’m completely disarmed and dysfunctional as he punches something into the cash register, probably gawking at him with a stupid expression.  
“So, how is law school?” He asks absently, punching something else into the computer screen.  
“Oh, well, you know…” I mutter, watching the way his forearm moves. “It’s stressful and hard, and really sucks the soul out of you sometimes, but it’s worthwhile.” I can’t help but smile when he looks back up at me. “Mostly because of the people you meet, I can’t say anything good about the classes.”  
“Most people have gotta be really smart at law school, right?”  
I shake my head, the smile remaining. “No, not at all. There are the few over-achievers, but most of us are pretty dumb. Like really, really dumb.”  
“Just a guess, but the one who fell off the bike is probably at the lower end of that list.”  
“Hey,” I say, putting a hand up in mock defensiveness, “he upholds that the only reason they were going so fast was his dedication to being on time.”  
“Okay, okay, sure.” He says, laughing quietly. “I wouldn’t believe him.”  
The two of us make knowing, amused eye contact. “Oh, we don’t.”  
“Well, I’m sure he’ll appreciate this.” With another grin, Suga hands me the lotion, now in a small black bag. “You seem like a very dedicated friend.”  
I offer a shrug, meeting his gaze tentatively. “I hope so. He’s a good guy, after all. And actually, thank— thank you, Suga-san.” I stutter out.  
And he giggles, not at me, but with slight redness blooming across his cheeks. “Thank _you_ , Daichi-san.”  
I leave the store that day utterly gleeful. I manage to hide my flustered excitement long enough to get out the door before letting myself bury my face in my gloves in the cold and squeal into them. God, he’s so _cute_ , he’s so cute. I need to come back sometime, to buy something, or… maybe one of the boys wants something, I could totally come up with an excuse to see him again. I then realize why I came in the first place, and in my good mood feel obligated to show Nishinoya what’s in store for him. I yank open the bag, intending to text him a picture of the lotion, but stop when I notice a piece of paper crammed in there with it.  
A receipt, I wonder? I stuff my phone back into my coat pocket and reach in to grab it, unfolding it clumsily in my gloved hand.  
After several seconds of confused squinting, I determine that _“Call me? -Suga,_ ” is what it reads, along with a phone number. His phone number? My stomach drops when I make the connection, and despite the cold I feel the back of my neck flush with scorching heat. His number, holy _shit,_ Suga, he gave me his number—  
“Daichi-san?” I hear a voice behind me, and I whip around, my jaw agape.  
It’s Suga, hanging halfway out of the shop’s door, a smile on his face and a piece of paper in one hand, being waved around. “You forgot your receipt.” He explains good-naturedly, and even from a few meters away I can see a snowflake catch on a clump of ash-blond hair dangling down in front of his face.  
“Oh, gosh—” I stutter, and shove the unfolded piece of paper back into the bag, blushing furiously, before hurrying over to take the receipt from him. “Th—Thank you, Suga-san—” Is all I can get out, desperately flustered. “I’m, I’m sorry—”  
Suga shuts my needless babbling up with the expression he gives me, something earnest and flirtatious and knowing, maybe bordering on amused. “You’re very welcome, Daichi-san.” He practically croons, likely knowing very well what his composed demeanor and coy looks are doing. Oh god, he made me forget my receipt _on purpose._ __  
I’m so paralyzingly enamored and overwhelmed that I can’t manage to speak. I simply nod at him and watch, cheeks blazing red and eyes wide, as he shuts the door again slowly with another inviting smile fired my way.  
Once he’s disappeared from behind the glass, I turn back around, stare off into the distance, and can practically feel myself combust. He’s... _so attractive_. Momentarily I shove my hand back into the bag and yank out the slip of paper with his number on it, and proceed to stare at it in disbelief, looking over my shoulder at the door, and then back at the number, and then back at the door. Behind the number is held the receipt, which, upon further examination, contains a playful string of X’s and O’s scrawled along the back. I flush even further at the sight of it.  
I don’t think I’ve _ever_ been more thankful for Nishinoya’s irresponsible tendencies, and later that night greet him at the door with a whoop, a hug, and a messy kiss to the forehead. “Thank you, Noya-kun, thank you, thank you _thank you,_ you have no idea what you’ve done for me—” I howl, my face pressed awkwardly into his narrow shoulder.  
Nishinoya complains in the form of disinterested groaning as I sweep him into my arms, spinning him around on our front stoop and bumping his feet into the doorframe, not bothering to ask what the fuss is about. Yamaguchi, donned in a set of purple cat pajamas, has the door held open in one hand, juice box in the other, is watching absently as I make a scene of welcoming myself home.  
“The lotion, Nishinoya, the lotion _saved me._ ” I insist. I’ve set him down and now have him by the shoulders, staring straight at him with great fervency, the receipt stuffed in one hand.  
Nishinoya moans. “Sawamura, what’s the point of this? It’s cold, and it’s really late—”  
“Wait, is that a number?” Yamaguchi cuts him off, quirking an eyebrow at the slip of paper now pressed to our friend’s shoulder.  
I suddenly stare up at the boy in the doorframe, deadpanning with an almost grim expression. “ _Yes,_ Yamaguchi, And he’s drop-dead _gorgeous._ ”  
Yamaguchi, after taking a second to register, busts out laughing, and Nishinoya has his face buried in his hands in record time. “Of course, Daichi.” He groans, shaking his head. “You got the sales associate’s number, from the freaking _lotion place_ —”  
“And I have never been more grateful for your needy personality!” I exclaim, being completely serious and even going so far as to throw my arms into the air. “I am so thankful! He is so pretty! And he’s got this hair, and these big brown __eyes —”

“Come inside, Daichi.” Nishinoya mutters, yanking me by the wrist and pulling me into the house, through the foyer and past Yamaguchi, who is doubled over with laughter.  
“He’s from freaking lotion place, Daichi?” I hear the pajama-wearing boy shout as I am dragged past.  
I crane my neck to shout back. “Hey, he’s really pret— It’s called Lush!”


End file.
